


It's Permanent

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [40]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tattoos, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:12:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon Prompt: Matching tattoos for their wedding prompt gallavich! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Permanent

**Author's Note:**

> Thought this was very very cute. I wanted to do this for a while!! 
> 
> The ring tattoos: http://www.weddingomania.com/pictures/awesome-wedding-ring-tattoos-23.jpg
> 
> Tell me what you think???!

It was couple of days before the wedding, well three days but it wasn't like Ian was counting. Pft, that would be silly. It wasn't really a wedding either; they had both decided that they would stand at the top of the old abandoned building, exchange rings, say a couple of corny words, kiss and then go back to fuck in _every_ room in the house. It was pretty fucking exciting, really.

Ian sat in the middle of the tattoo parlour, laid against the black-spread chair, ready to get prodded with a needle that would permanently mark his skin. Mickey was the one to bring the idea up; persuading Ian that it was more sentimental than a pair of rings or a piece of paper. Despite having both of them things, Ian agreed to it happily.

“So what you having?” The tattoo artist asked, pulling on his blue plastic gloves as the new needle rested in his lap within its packet. Ian had thought about this, weeks on end since the moment Mickey had suggested it. They both agreed that they would get their ring finger tattooed, an inked, spiral knot wrapping around the skin to represent how far they had actually come.

“Oh, I want this.” Ian pulls out his phone, unlocking it and bringing up the photograph he had saved; two hands, both with matching tattoos around their fourth finger. Passing the phone over, he explains, “Like a spiral type thing.” He gestures with his hand, watching as the tattoo artist nodded and memorised the image in his head, passing the mobile back.

Preparing the ink for the tattoo gun, the guy asked, “Is she getting one too?”

“He suggested it.” Ian instantly replies, making it clear that it was important, that he didn't give a shit what people thought. Because he really didn't. The artist remained unaffected, nodding his head with a affectionate smile. Ian was kind of glad he didn't have to show fists to someone, especially a guy with a needle.

“It's pretty important then.” The guy explained through Ian's sudden silence.

Nodding, Ian hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it's permanent, you know?” It was too, he couldn't get over the fact that Mickey was willing to ink his skin, and have it forever, a sign that they would never be apart. It was kind of beautiful actually.

The guy gestured for Ian's left hand, grabbing it gently and resting it against the armrest. Before he dipped the needle in the ink, he nods his head understandingly. “Tell me about it.” he mumbles, resting the gun against the trolley beside him. Lifting his shirt he reveals his tattoo against his ribs. “I got his vows tattooed on me, read em' ever single day.”

“Shit.” Ian mutters, leaning in closer so he could read the words sprawled against the guys ribs. His heart swelled, his eyes nearly popping out his head. The guy sure didn't look gay, not at all, but it made it a little less awkward now. The words against his ribs were lined up neatly, each word craved into his skin smoothly. “That's fucking adorable.”

The guy laughs, letting his shift fall back down, leaning over and grabbing the gun. The noise echoed through the room, the buzz of the needle nearing over to Ian's skin. Biting his lip, he awaits the first nip against the pale area, flinching a little as the guy began to draw an outline.

“I want to get another one.” Ian blurts, after seeing those words against the guys skin, he _knew_ he had to get something more. Something that _only_ Mickey would see and understand. Even if he didn't have enough money for it, he'd find a way. “I've been thinking about it but I'm fucked for idea's.”

Dipping the needle in the ink, the artist repeats his understanding tone, darkening the outline he had inked into Ian's skin. “How about some words?” He suggested, hand clutching to Ian's shaky finger as he curved around the edge of the bone. “His name maybe?”

“He'd kill me if I got his name.” Ian sighs, he knows Mickey would hate it if his name was over Ian's skin. Once before he had told him that it was tacky, that Ian didn't need a reminder that Mickey was there, because he would _never_ leave. Trying to ignore the pain in his finger, he looks around the room, trying to get inspiration. “Erm, French is a pretty romantic language, right?”

The guy shrugs, “Fuck if I know. He's the most romantic in our relationship.”

Ian already knows that he's the most romantic, out of him and Mickey, the older boy wouldn't do romance if his boss paid him to. Maybe he should of thought about this before hand. Grinning, in affection for the thoughts of his soon-to-be-husband, Ian says, “Mickey isn't either. Well, he can be, in his own screwed up way.”

Before they knew it, the artist had finished the outline, ready to ink in the hallow inside of the knot around Ian's finger, he puts down the gun and wheels over to a book resting on a table. Coming back, he flicks through the pages before he gets to the picture he wanted. “How about...this?”

Ian's eyes flicker over the page, finger stinging like fuck, “In French?”

“I can do that.”

It was a picture of someone’s upper arm, words inked against the inside. Ian's heart nearly bursting when he reads out loud from the photograph, “ _Your love is eternal”_ It really did fit. Their love was eternal, and now that they were finally endearing through the commitment of marriage, it really was _eternal._ Ian already knew that no matter what happened, Mickey would always be the first choice.

“Well?” The artist asks, picking back up the tattoo gun and grabbing Ian's strayed finger once more.

Ian laughs to himself, _Mickey was going to hate this,_ “Corny as shit. He'll hate it. Can I have it on my hip?” He asks, jolting at the prod of the needle sinking back into his skin. He was getting used to it now, it had been a while since he felt such pain.

“Anything you need, man.”

 

–

Half an hour later, ink drawn against his skin of his hip, cling film wrapped firm around his tattoo, his finger still stinging but looked more heart-wrenching each time he glanced down at it. Through the process, he had learnt that the guy was called David, he was happily married to his husband of seven years, he had two kids who he loved dearly, more than anything.

Ian stood at the desk, money in his hand, knowing that he didn't have enough to pay for both of the tattoos he had requested. “What's the damage?” He asks, guiltily biting his lip. David rushed around behind the till, ticking off payments against the paper he had written Ian's order on.

“Er,” David mumbles, tapping his pen against the desk. “Twenty for the finger, the hip?” He doesn't hesitate before adding, a smile against his lips, “You can have the other for free.”

Shocked, Ian opened and closed his mouth, forgetting how to speak. “For _free?_ You sure?”

David nods, confirming his offer, arching an eyebrow that suggested _are-you-serious?_ “Yeah, man. It's not usual for a gay couple to be getting married around here, _especially_ in this neighbourhood.” Ian really couldn't disagree with that. “See it as my wedding gift.”

“Thanks, man.” Ian shakes David's hand, beaming with a grin. It wasn't usual for someone other than his family, or occasionally Mickey, to be nice around there. Passing over his twenty bucks, he gives a shy smile, eyes locking back down to the ring inked to his finger. “I'd say you could come, but it's just the two of us, you know?”

Waving him off, David answered, the till popping with a ping as he placed the notes inside. “Small and sweet, totally understand. Me and the husband married in Vegas, cheap and easy, but it didn't change how fucking amazing it was, or _he_ was.” The guys smile was literally blinding as he spoke of his significant other.

Ian snorted, a little touched. “Really? How did you two meet?”

“Well,” David started, leaning against the desk. “he tried to rob my store, I kicked his ass. Ended up seeing him everyday in the hospital, mostly because I didn't want to get busted, but that fucker got under my skin somehow.” Ian laughed in relation, Mickey had crawled in the depths of his bones and embedded himself into his veins, he totally understood.

Carrying on, David smiled in utter affection. “When he got out he asked me to ink him and the rest is history.” The story was simple, but lying beneath was complications, that Ian himself had experienced. It made it more real. Leaning further in, intrigued, David asked, “You?”

And _god,_ there was so many ways he could tell this story. So many things that had managed to fuck them up, but simultaneously pulling them back together. Where could he start? “Jeez, where do I start.” he huffs, running a hand through his hair, sneaking a glance down to the cling film sticking out from his shirt. “We grew up together, kind of, we just didn't know it until he tried to bust my ass for not sleeping with his sister.”

David chokes on his spit, “ _Really?”_

“Well,” Ian felt a smile breeching against his lips, the stupid memory hitting back. “He didn't do it for that reason, more because she told him I touched her, when really I hadn't told her I was gay. _Then_ Mickey tried to kill me, beat the shit out of my brother instead.”

“Jesus.” David laughs, taking it all in. Mickey and Ian's story was colourful, for sure. “Sounds like a tough guy.”

The nickname was familiar, the name that would warm his heart, he hadn't heard Mickey call him that in a while. It definitely needed rebooting. Answering, he have a warm smile, thoughts only of his husband-to-be, “When you see him he's _definitely_ thugish. Underneath, he's the softest person I know.”

Agreeing, as if he knew it himself, David slaps a hand against Ian's shoulder, “They always are.”

 

***

“ _So,_ you must be Ian's unromantic, thuggish husband-to-be?” David calls out towards the small, brunette man, leading him towards the black chair Ian had been sat in the previous day.

Mickey rolled his eyes, it was predictable that Ian had introduced the whole fucking family. “He's already been talking?” He sits back against the chair, pulling off his coat.

“He never _stops_ talking.” David laughs, shaking his head. He whips out his gloves, pulling them on quickly, grabbing a new needle from its packet and attaching it to the gun.

It was different to actually go to a tattoo parlour instead of the Milkoviches basement, Iggy's made-shift gun and second hand ink. It was a little cheesy, a little over done, but he had suggested it after all. This _was_ his idea. “Try fucking living with him.”

“Nah, I understand.” David recollects, pulling out a tray of blank ink, gesturing for Mickey's left hand, image of the tattoo already imprinted into his memory. “Cool tats, man.” He nods towards the letters written against Mickey's knuckles, only receiving a snort in return. Still rummaging around, he continues with his speech, of some-sort. “My husband fucking talks me ear off _all_ night, sometimes I want to smoother him in a pillow, you know?”

Mickey doesn't flinch when the needle hits his skin, he'd felt it many times before. The guy obviously knew what Mickey wanted, Ian probably blabbed the whole thing the day before. Shock finally hit him, a little surprised. “Wait, you're fucking gay?”

“What?” David scoffed, turning the tattoo gun back on at the switch. “A tattoo artist can't be gay, is that what you're saying?” He asks, pulling at the wire, and lifted the needle towards Mickey's fourth finger.

“ _Fuck-”_ he whispered through a sharp inhale as the needle hit by the bone, curving around his finger in an outline. “No, just not what I expected, man.”

The man shrugs, neatly drawing an inked outline of the spiral knot, exactly the same as Ian's. “I didn't expect you to be either, thug of the neighbourhood and all, but here we are tattooing your wedding ring that matching your boyfriend's.” He sighs heavily, grinning a little when he feels Mickey tense beneath the needle.

“Husband.” Mickey corrects. They had already signed the papers, just after Ian had gone to the parlour. Mickey was still a little suspecting of Ian's weary behaviour, and slight suspicion that Ian was hiding something, especially when he slept in a t-shirt that night.

“Yeah.” David nods, focusing on inking Mickey's skin.

Mickey looks around the room, trying to forget the pinch against his skin, until he sees something against the wall; its a hip, tattooed with words that he really couldn't understand, but it looked fucking bad-ass, sort of sweet too. Nodding his head into the direction of the picture, he asks, “You ink words here?”

“Yeah, we're pretty fucking good at it too.” David laughs, eyes not leaving Mickey's skin.

Scoffing, Mickey picks up the book at the edge of the seat with his right hand, leaning it against his lap as David worked away at the curve of his finger. He flicks through the pages, discarding each one, over and over, “No. No. _definite_ no. What the fuck is that? Holy shit.” He turns the pages through his mutters, eyes widening. “Fuck that.” slamming the book shut, he looks up to the ceiling in frustration.

“What's that say?” Mickey asks, pointing the fairly new photograph he had been looking at previously.

“What?” David rounds the skin, dipping the needle in the pot, before looking towards Mickey's pointed right hand. It was the hip photograph, the one taken yesterday, the French words hitched at the hip. With a smug smiles, he acts oblivious, “Oh that? Customer got it yesterday, it's French.”

“ _And_ it says what?”

Pressing the needle back onto Mickey's finger, he hides his smile. “Your love is eternal.”

Something attracts Mickey to it, he's not sure what. It felt like the person painted with the ink was familiar, _that_ hip similar to one he knew of. Then he realised, the words fit. Like a puzzle piece into a jigsaw. It was them, him and Ian. A harsh, gut-wrenching couple of years but it was worth it. Mickey knew he didn't want anything else, nor anyone else. His love, well yeah, it was fucking eternal, for sure. “Corny as shit. Ian will fucking love it, can I get it on my hip?”

David suddenly stops, shocked at the fact that Mickey's words were _literally_ parallel to Ian's. They looked and acted totally opposite; Ian was giddy, always talking, a big sharer, and looked like he would save a crying cat from a tree, even if the thing could jump down on its own. Mickey, well he could already tell about Mickey, he was actually like himself; grumpy, didn't like talking, tried his best not to punch every fucker that was in his way, and had a hard shell that you literally needed a bulldozer to crash through it. Even he could tell, some stranger to the both of them, that Ian was that bulldozer, that their love _fit._ “In French?”

“In English, I'm American.” Mickey barks, scoffing a little. Fucking French.

David hides his laugh, knowing that Ian was actually right about the whole tattoo thing.“No problem, man.”

 

–

After Mickey paid, but only for his finger – after he demanded what the catch was for the free charge, a little suspecting of the man before him, until he realised the guy was just being nice – he couldn't stop looking at the black spiral around his finger, a sentiment of Ian wrapped around him, he pulls on his jacket.

“You like it?” David asks.

Mickey nods, looking back down towards the ink around his fourth finger, other arm slightly brushing against the cling film wrapped around his hip. “It's sick, man.” He laughs, happy with the two tattoos he had got that day. One in which he knew Ian didn't know about, and he decided it'd be his own present to Ian, something only they could see. “It's permanent, you know?”

“That's what he said.” The man nearly gasps, laughing a little.

Mickey squints, tilting his head. “Who?”

“Ian.”

Groaning, throwing his head back, Mickey gives off a beam. “He would say fucking that.”

***

 

“'Bout time.” Ian calls out, leaning against the pillar of the old building. Mickey walks up the steps of the abandoned roof, huffing out air as he tried to catch his breath. God, he was getting old.

“Fuck off, Gallagher. I'm here, aren't I?” He shoots back, pulling at the tie that Ian had made him wear. It was the same really; out in the open roof, hidden from everyone, just the two of them and a couple of bottles of beers to wash down the instant rush of lust. Except, of course, Ian had demanded they wore suits at least.

Ian walks forward, smirk hanging against his face, unbuttoning his jacket at the waist. Mickey does too, walking as far as he could until their faces were barely inches apart. They didn't need words, or a soppy speech, a crowd of people clapping, nor a huge buffet and a first dance. All the needed was each-other. “I missed you.” Ian whispers, a little shyly.

“It was one fucking day.” Mickey rolls his eyes, looking through his lashes up at Ian. The redhead looked nothing more than beautiful, his eyes popping out against the sharpness of the suit.

“One day that I could of been snuggling with you.” Ian pouts, pulling Mickey closer by the hem of his jacket, grinning from ear to ear.

Mickey swears his heart is having a spasm of some sort, thumping wildly against his chest. This was it. This was their commitment, this was _them._ “Well-” Mickey lifts his hand, waving it infront of Ian's face, watching as the redheads face turned from affection to a smile. “I was busy getting this fucker.”

“Me too.” Ian lifts out his own hand, leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss against Mickey's skin. They were both identical, their rings literally carved into their skin. Their own personal mark. Softly, he intertwines his hand with Mickey's, humming at the feeling of their tattoos brushing together. “I got another one.”

Mickey's eyes flickered to shock, “What?”

“A tattoo.” Ian confirms, tilting his head waiting for a reaction. “Another one.” Hand still in Mickey's, he lifts his shirt with his right, pulling it from his suit pants, revealing the French words inked into his skin in a beautiful cursive, against his hip,“ _Mon amour pour toi est eternel.”_

The brunette eyes it narrowly, his right hand reaching out to touch the slighty-red skin. Ian shivers against his cold fingers, chuckling a little by the side of his ear. That's when Mickey realises, he _knew_ he had seen that hip before. It was fucking Ian's. “What the hell does it say?”

Ian lets his husband trail his hands over the words, finger-tips soft and tender against the grove of his hip. Shyly, he answers, his cheeks blushing, “Your love it eternal.”

Mickey's fingers top, his hand squeezing tighter against Ian's. “What the _fuck.”_

“What, you don't like it?”

“No.” Mickey simply states, eyes still wide, staring off towards Ian's hip. Lifting his own shirt, redness still clinging around the black ink, he reveals his own tattoo. “What the fuck.”

Ian's eyes grow wide, looking between the identical words, just his were in French. It was beautiful against Mickey's pale skin, the words delicate against the rough joint of his hip. “Holy shit.” He laughs, his right hand reaching out to stroke against the ink. It was still smooth, still fresh, still permanent and always would be. How did they end up with the same thing? “How the fuck did we end up with the same thing?”

“Why is yours in fucking German?” Mickey shoots, scowling towards Ian. His heart doing that swirling motion it always did when Ian bit his lip with nerves, or smiled like a dork.

The redhead wrestles with Mickey's hand, swatting him against the side of his neck. “It's French, you uncultured idiot.” And God, wasn't he fucking lucky to have him. Mickey, his Mickey, stood in a suit they had found in the back of the closet, his shirt still lifted up, his tattoo fresh against the air, dark against the lit-sky.

“I hate it.” Mickey pulls a face, leaning close to Ian, pressing his lips against his gently.

Grinning against the other man's lips, hand curving around his hip, swiping a thumb against the newly-inked words. Ian knew the brunette would hate it, but he always knew when Mickey was lying. It was true, like it always had been, they were eternal.Their love was. “Shut up, I love it.”

Mickey's lips curl into a smile, freehand grabbing onto the back of his neck. Affectionately, he brings their locked hands up to his lips, kissing against the permanent rings around their fingers, nearly taking Ian's breath away. “You may fuck the groom.”

“I do.” Ian giggles, dragging Mickey back into a harsh kiss, their tattoos lining up as their chests pressed together. Their inked rings locked as their hands clung tightly in a passionate hold.

 


End file.
